


Tale of Four Brothers

by divagonzo, smutty_claus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aro/Ace Charlie, Aromantic Asexual Charlie Weasley, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, References Major Character Death, background Charlie/Tonks, tw: alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 06:29:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17054906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/divagonzo/pseuds/divagonzo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/smutty_claus/pseuds/smutty_claus
Summary: It’s the 5th of May and Charlie has had enough at home. He’s going to go out and get blackout drunk and stumble somewhere to sleep it off. But then she walked up to the bar and his life took an unexpected turn. She is a balm to his weary soul.





	Tale of Four Brothers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Knowmefirst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knowmefirst/gifts).



> Originally written and published for the 2018 Smutty Claus fest on LJ. With the release of Hogwarts Mystery, my original envisioning of Charlie stands: He's Aro/Ace and prefers his dragons. Having said that, he does also like spending time with people, from time to time. While this story isn't all fluff and candy floss, I wanted to write that, in times of grief, people seek out comforts where they can, even with the circumstances not being ideal.

**To: **knowmefirst**  
From: Your Secret Santa.**

> **Title:** Tale of Four Brothers  
>  **Author:**  
>  **divagonzo** **Pairing:** Charlie/Pansy (with a side of Bill/Fleur and past mentions of Charlie/Tonks)  
>  **Summary:** It’s the 5th of May and Charlie has had enough at home. He’s going to go out and get blackout drunk and stumble somewhere to sleep it off. But then she walked up to the bar and his life took an unexpected turn.  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Length:** 11505  
>  **Warnings:** Mentions of character death (indirectly) and Battle of Hogwarts violence, mentioned as flashbacks. (and the use of the word s* on a few occasions.)  
>  **Author's notes:** **Knowmefirst** , this was a pleasure to write for you especially since I get so little opportunity to write Charlie as I see him - rough around the edges, with the Weasley doubts and preferring his Dragons to everything else. While this fought me like a week-old Welsh Green, I eventually wrestled it into submission. My thanks to my betas R and V and R for all of their assistance, and the lovely mods **Nightfalltwen** and **Glitter_pink** for the extra 36 hours to make sure this looked pretty.

* * *

“I’m heading out,” Charlie yelled aloud to no one in particular. “I’ll be back in a while.”

He had to get out. These walls he used to call home were smothering him. His father’s absence haunted him. His next brother’s nightmares, so loud to wake the house, keep him awake much of the night. And Ron? When did that whiney pipsqueak turn into a man so haunted he barely talks and gladly does chores? And that’s not counting the other one, sharing a room with his baby sister – who wasn’t such a baby anymore.

Charlie grabbed his coat from the rack inside the kitchen and left, accidentally letting it slam behind him. If Mum wasn’t hiding in her room, looking out her window towards the grove where….

Fuck. Fred. Damn it.

He raked his hand across his eyes, castigating himself for being a ponce even now.

But is it being a ponce if you _regret_ the time you spent away from the family now?

He came across a gnome in the evening dark, kicking hard. He missed and landed on his arse. “Bloody fucking –” He tried to kick the gnome again and missed a second time, landing on his other cheek. “Sod this,” He apparated away to London and the Leaky. He needed a pint or 10 to drown out the shame and guilt of the years he missed with his family, including the adorable little wanker known as Fred.

Charlie landed with a thud in the back garden of the Leaky, permanently uninhabited so witches and Wizards could apparate in without harming anyone. Tuesdays were normally slow enough that it wouldn’t be crowded and noisy. The funeral atmosphere over the Wizarding community the last couple of days was like a wool blanket stifling any noises while making it so hard to breathe.

Merlin, when did he become a doddering bastard at the ripe old age of 25? Right. He fought inside and outside of a castle against people who had no qualms killing everyone that he held dear. Dragons were more honest in their desire to kill you than what he faced Friday night into Saturday morning.

Charlie stopped at the door to the back of the pub, watching his left-hand shake uncontrollably for a few moments. He breathed deep, in and out, feeling the ache between his shoulders that hadn’t gone away yet. ‘Quit being a fuckin’ ponce. You’re still breathing.’ He barged into the back door of the pub, passing a few waitresses hustling from the kitchen to the main dining hall using magic to carry the trays out to the patrons.

His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he’d only had a piece of burnt toast for breakfast since Ginny, Merlin keep her, couldn’t cook to keep a gnome fed. But he wasn’t going to turn down anything since Mum was barricaded in her room and had been the last 3 days. Between that and George trying to put himself into the grave by drinking the country dry, he had to get out, at least for a while.

Maybe he could get pissed and forget for a few hours before he would stumble back to Brother Bill’s house on the coast and pass out on the bloody couch. He couldn’t face the look of disappointment on his father’s face if he came stumbling in at 3 am, completely drunk. 

Charlie stalked up to the bar and picked a seat at the far end, near a wall. Nearly dying hourly made a bloke want a strong wall behind him, even if he knew it was rubbish for protection. Every moment that flashed in front of him – or behind him – replayed in his mind. He needed quite a few to drown out what he couldn’t banish or ignore.

He needed some respite from hearing the moans of pain – or the screams that never stopped.

“What’ll you have?” Old Tom, the proprietor, croaked.

“Double Ogden’s and make it two.” Charlie pulled a few galleons from his pocket and plonked them down on the bar.

“You’re a Weasley, aren’t you?”

Charlie kept quiet. That wound was too raw still, like the first minutes after getting burned by a baby dragon who didn’t know how to control their fire. You couldn’t yell at a Dragon for not realizing it and if you didn’t, you’d only get hurt worse.

“Heard about your brother. Everyone has. Sorry to hear about it. He’s a good bloke and was terrific for business. I loved seeing him come in for a lunch order. Always generous with the waitresses.”

“Thanks,” Charlie took the proffered tumbler of dark amber liquid and tossed it back in one go. He belched fire, charring the wall slightly above his head. The second one beckoned seductively.

A flowery scent tickled his nose before a dragon skin coat rubbed up against his waxed leather one. “Ogden’s Blue, neat, and make it a double.”

Charlie looked up from the glass he was contemplating and saw a dark-haired woman standing next to him, wearing enough dragon skin to pay his wages for the year. She was short, with a bun of black hair twisted up on top of her head. She was pale, more pale than usual, and looked exhausted under her pristine appearance. Her eyes were bloodshot like she was carrying too much weight on her shoulders for a woman of 20. Bill might have said she was pretty. Percy would say though that she wasn’t his type, even if he never actually had a type.

She didn’t look his way.

That suited him just fine. Drinking in peace was always his preference, whether secretly in the scullery or off-duty from work. Sometimes a wizard needed some quiet to collect – 

“You’re Ron’s brother, aren’t you?”

Charlie looked up from his tumbler and saw the witch holding her glass in her manicured hands. He refused to compare his burned and calloused ones. They still itched from the burn paste he put on them earlier in the evening, trying to heal his wounds without his Mum’s help. Right now she was no help at home, and for good reason. Then again he was pretty much pants at healing spells.

“A little slow on the uptake, huh?”

He pulled a face. “Yeah, I am.” He put his hand over the top of his glass. Too many strange things were happening in his life to trust anyone at the moment. He turned back to the bar, ignoring the young woman next to him.

“I thought so.” Her diminutive stature and impeccable attire normally wouldn’t tempt him, not compared to the majesty and beauty of a Norwegian Ridgeback in flight, but this witch standing next to him, smelling of soap and lavender, was an enigma. Her green eyes captivated him, making her a paradox. He hated puzzles. He walked away from the last one – and she was dead too. Merlin! So many people he knew, lying cold now in a box, waiting on some faintly praising words that meant nothing to them now.

The witch next to him gave him a look. “I heard about your other brother.”

“Seems that everyone has,” Charlie threw back the second shot of whiskey, belching fire and scorching the wall yet again. “Everyone feels bad that Fred died. Everyone’s sorry.” Charlie quit talking instantly. 

“You’re upset. I get it.”

“How would you know?” He growled. He reached into his pocket and pulled out another 2 galleons. Old Tom plucked them up from the bar and shoved them in his bar apron, picking up the bottle of Ogden’s and pouring another 2 glasses.

“About Death? Too bloody much,” the witch opened her small purse and pulled out four more galleons, putting them on the bar. Tom collected her coin too and poured one large tumbler full of amber liquid. “You’re not the only one who lost someone – or more than someone.”

“Yeah, who?” His voice cracked on the last word. “Who died that you knew?”

“Too many,” she gave him a side-long glance. She picked up the heavy glass, swirling the distilled beverage inside of it, looking into the depths that might hold some fleeting answers. “And not the ones who should have,” she sipped her drink before turning to him. “So what’s your plan for the night?”

“Mine? Getting pissed and avoiding my family until everyone is passed out asleep. I’m sick of hearing crying and yelling in the house.”

“Who?” Her green eyes turned soft.

“Mum, mostly. And Ron. But George frightens me because he’s quiet.”

“I hate to hear that,” she took another sip. “I wish Mum would be yelling at me for all of the shit that happened.”

“What did happen?” Charlie turned to face the witch standing next to him. She stood as tall as he sat on the barstool, absently tapping his foot while watching the emotions cross her face.

“Death Eaters, of course.”

“I guessed that.”

“They kidnapped Mother,” she started after a moment. “And it’s been months since I’ve heard from her. I figured since I hadn’t heard anything from Father in the last month that she’s probably dead, disappeared like so many.” The dark-haired witch took another sip of her beverage. “But then I get home, expecting to find my Father and he’s nowhere to be found. The house elves have no idea and haven’t seen him in days. If I don’t hear from him by in the morning I’m going to assume the worst.”

“So you’re still holding out hope, huh?” Charlie pulled one more galleon from his pocket and plunked it down on the bar. He had time tonight to listen.

“I have little else to hold out for. My mentor is dead. Another is on the run, probably. Almost everything I knew and believed in has been destroyed in one night. Every petty slight that I held towards others burned away that evening. Most of my family is probably dead by now. 

I have so little left of importance that I’m quite lost.”

He looked the witch up and down, focusing on her face. Her lipstick was slightly smudged, her eye make-up barely holding on, and her hair, now that he looked closely, was disheveled, hence why it was up in a bun. Her makeup hid the redness and shadows around her eyes but the eye colouring was failing after she’d wiped them too many times and made the sensitive skin raw.

“You fought on their side, didn’t you?”

“No, but I did betray Potter to save my father. He means the world to me.” She looked in her glass. “It was a choice that I’d make again, except that it seems that my choice was for nothing, probably, and that if I’d not tried to betray _him_ then I’d still be in the same situation.” She took another sip. ‘So bloody stupid,’ she berated herself under her breath. “So instead of fighting, I ran. I escaped. I sought refuge and hid while others fought and died.” She stared into his eyes, making him feel slightly uncomfortable. “It seemed so right, so damn right when they were talking, how we would be the ones with the reins of power, in a benevolent society where everything would work out for _us_ but that selfish bastard went and killed without regret or remourse. He wasn’t anything like he claimed to be.”

Charlie nodded. “I can understand that, even if it was for the wrong reasons.” He huffed. “You bought into the lies, because they fed into your beliefs and prejudices with what you had been taught, right?” She nodded. “And the ones who stood up and against them seemed so, well, misguided at the best, and downright traitorous at the worst.”

“How could you not? It’s easy to dismiss anything if you’ve bought into what they are selling, which seemed to be power.”

“Easy. Mum and Dad but especially Mum. But then my parents weren’t normal, not in comparison to every other Pureblood family.” He swirled his own drink. “Probably why my parents have few friends and only distant family.”

“You’re right there. Merlin, where did we go so wrong?”

“I don’t know. I dunno if I ever will. I’m not the brilliant one in the family.”

“Damn it, I said another,” a voice erupted from the other end of the pub, a very slurring yet familiar voice. They turned and saw an average height ginger-haired man, with another trying to pull on his arm and away from the other bar patrons. The pissed one held a bottle of Firewhiskey in his hand, swinging at the other one.

“Shit, family problems. I’ll be back.” Charlie got up to see what his younger brothers were up. He ducked and dodged various people and tables, mostly trying to avoid the casual observer gawking at his family. One bloke yelled, “Watch yer damn feet,” as Charlie accidentally trod on them trying to get across the room.

He stumbled onto where his siblings were making a spectacle. Percy struggled to pull the half-empty whiskey bottle away from George, who it appeared had already drunk a whole one and was working on the second. 

“Percy, move your ass.”

Percy turned around, expecting someone taller and looked down his nose at his older brother, standing there looking serious. “Charlie, he’s drunk.”

“Thanks for the observation, Perce. I’d have never figured that out.” 

He pulled a face. “He won’t let go of that bottle.”

“Leave it for him.”

“But – “

“Sod it. Pull that stick out of your ass and _look_. He lost his twin brother three days ago. If he wants to crawl into the sodding bottle, let him. I won’t stop him and you shouldn’t either. Merlin knows how we’re going to get through the next few days.”

“Charlie,” Percy’s voice took on a nasal whine he had when he was a kid, “I can’t leave him here like this. He got into a bloody fight last night. It’s a wonder that Tom let him come back.”

Charlie looked over his shoulder and saw Old Tom nodding. Charlie could easily commiserate, having been in a few pub brawls on his downtime. Winning those was expensive.

“Get to the fireplace and pay the fee for both of you. I’ll wrestle him to the fireplace.”

“Don’t. He already took a swing at me.”

“I can handle George. You never could. Now move it!”

Percy scurried off and left Charlie standing at the edge of the table, watching his younger brother talking with Fred. Hushed whispers were never answered, ‘cept it appeared in his brother’s head. Charlie saw the witch from earlier standing nearby watching their antics. Merlin! It’d probably be the gossip for a week. God help them if it made the paper.

“Come on, arsehole. Time to go home.”

“Fuck off, Charlie. Fred and I are talking. Got plans for a joke shop, we do. Got us an investor. We’re gonna be rich, richer than Bill, for sure.”

“And you have one, ya git. Now get your arse up.”

“I said Fuck off!” George roared. Charlie felt every eye turn towards them.

“I said get yer arse up!” Charlie reached over and yanked George by the collar of his jumper, dragging him off the stool and away from the table. George kicked out, knocking over the table and the half-empty bottle of whiskey onto them, splashing them both in distilled spirits.

“Let go of me you bloody lunatic,” George tried to grab purchase on Charlie’s wrist and he wasn’t budging. Instead, he dragged him through the pub, kicking the occasional chair leg or person occupying it. 

“Tom, do something,” George slurred. “Tell this berk to let go.”

“I am,” He grunted. “I’m doing nothing. Go sleep it off.”

Charlie wrestled him the last few meters towards the fireplace, where Percy was standing, bouncing from foot to foot, his hair a disheveled mess, along with dry washing his hands. Charlie kicked George once in the bum before yanking him up off of the floor. “Now get home and get some sleep. Quit hassling your brother. Tomorrow is going to be hell and I won’t have you cocking things up.” Percy threw some Floo powder into the Fireplace, yelling _The Burrow_ before watching his inebriated brother swirl away in the green flames.

“Thanks for that. I couldn’t get him off of that stool.”

“No problem, Perse. You might want to follow home to make sure he’s not tearing up the kitchen looking for the bottle of firewhiskey Dad supposedly keeps in the scullery.”

Percy stepped in and took his glasses off. “He already found that bottle, along with the one stashed in Dad’s shed and the spare bottle mum uses for cooking.” Percy huffed. “He’s going to be a bear tomorrow.”

Charlie saw the deep grief on his brother’s face. “Yeah, he is. But we’ll get through it, somehow.”

“Thanks,” He looked much older than his 21 years. “You’re coming too, right?”

“Nope. I’m staying ‘til close. I need some time away.”

Percy looked over Charlie’s shoulder and saw the witch from earlier. His malice etched into his face would have burned a hole in dragon hide. He turned back to his brother. “I’ll tell Dad you’re not coming home.”

“You do that,” Charlie scowled as Percy yelled his destination and swirled away too.

Charlie watched the fireplace for a moment, expecting George to come back through demanding more Firewhiskey. If he were in his shoes, that’s what he’d do. Crawling into a bottle seemed like a good idea for tomorrow – but he couldn’t hurt Mum and Dad that way. He’d stay sober and it would fucking hurt and he’d get pissed again tomorrow night and go from there.

“That was sweet of you, handing your drunken brother. I never figured you one to manhandle another rather than use magic.”

“Sometimes doing things the Muggle way works better. But then I don’t think Tom would appreciate a vicious wand fight in the Leaky tonight, not with everything else going on.” Charlie didn’t turn back around. “Percy never could manage the twins. They were walking all over him by the time they were four. Sure he taught them their letters and numbers and helped them with stuff but getting them to obey? It never happened.” Charlie turned and saw the diminutive witch watching him. “The only ones who could handle them are Mum and Dad, and me. Bill got conned often by them, which got him into trouble with Dad.”

“You love them, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” he stammered, “yes, probably, in one way or another. They can be tossers but they’re still family.”

The witch looked him up and down, not bothering to see his mucked up boots or his broken in coat or thrice darned shirt. She smiled and it was the first one he’d seen all day. Damn it was something nice to look at.

“You know, I have a room upstairs. I could use some company tonight.”

He stood, towering over the petite witch before him. “What are you asking of me, um, I never caught your name?”

“It’s Pansy, and I would like to spend the night with you. It’s been a long time since a man showed some compassion towards others. I find it, well, attractive.”

Charlie stared at the witch in front of him, holding her tumbler of amber fire and a smouldering look on her face. “Look, Pansy, I want you to know that, well, I’m not a typical guy.”

“I know. You’re a Weasley. They aren’t.”

“No, um, it’s, a, it’s that I’m not the kind of bloke that women go for, I reckon.”

“Oh. So you prefer men?”

“Well, not, not that, um, either. See, I’m, well, one of those lunatic guys who can just, ya know, take it or leave it. I think a flying on a broom or treacle tart is more enjoyable than what I think you’re asking for.”

Pansy stared back, hard, like someone had hit her with a bludger. “So you’re not interested in sex? Not even casual shag?”

He shrugged. “I can’t be arsed either way. Blokes have asked and birds have tried and they all get turned off when I start talking about my dragons at the Preserve. Most can’t be bothered to listen long enough.” He blew out a harsh breath through his nose. “It irritates me that something that I am passionate about – dragon conservation – bores others silly. So I don’t bother with them. But I dunno. I’ve been that way for yonks, so Bill tells me. Only a precious few have the patience to listen to me natter on.”

Pansy reached out and touched his burn-scarred arm. “But some pleasant company wouldn’t bother you then?”

“Not at all but only if you let me prattle on about dragons half the night.”

“I’ll make you a deal, Charlie Weasley. You can natter on about your precious dragons and listening to you will help distract me from all of the problems I have going on right now.”

“Problems? You mean your missing parents that you’re not home waiting by the fireplace for their return?”

“I have an elf waiting who will come get me if they return. But I don’t think they are if you know what I’m saying.” 

He saw the deep frown on her face. She knew. “Yeah, I do, unfortunately.”

The ebb and flow of conversation around them ticked off the seconds passing by.

“So, about my offer?”

“You mean you _actually_ want to hear me natter on about dragons?”

“I actually do. That can help pass the time, along with a few other things.” Charlie watched her cheeks flush and she dropped her eyes. “That is if you want to. We can take a room upstairs and _just_ sleep or cuddle.”

Charlie felt the smile erupting on his face. Her eyes sparkled with reciprocation. “An evening with a woman would be nice especially since it’s been a long time someone has wanted to share a bed with me.”

Pansy put the glass down on the bar and looked back at him. “Who was it? Was it someone special to you?”

He felt the lump forming in his throat, thinking of the last time he saw her bubblegum hair and amazing smile. Fuck, he was going to miss her so damn much. “She was,” he choked out.

“Was?”

Charlie nodded. “She died in the fighting three nights ago.” He raked his hand across his eyes, trying to keep up the strong facade. He turned to look out among the other patrons; fighting down the grief he was stifling.

“I’m sorry. I really am.”

He took her condolence with grace. “You mentioned a room upstairs?”

“I did.”

“Let me get a bottle of Firewhiskey to take up.”

“Something so strong?”

“Butterbeer doesn’t do it for me. You’re welcome to have it, though. I’ll pay.”

“No, whiskey is fine.” She pulled a slip of parchment out of her satchel under her arm and a self-inking quill too. She scribbled a hasty note on it and pushed it over to Old Tom. He nodded, waiting for her magical signature on it which she gladly did. He took the parchment back and pushed over an ancient key. “Room six,” he said. “Checkout is noon.”

“We’ll be out before then,” She smiled and took the proffered key.

“Bottle of whiskey, too.” Charlie pushed over seven galleons towards Old Tom. He took the coin and pushed an unopened bottle across. “No messes in the room and if there is, let a maid know. I won’t have an elf cleaning up sick after anyone.”

“I wouldn’t do that, sir.” Charlie took the bottle and followed Pansy towards the stairs, stomping up each creaking stair, threatening to give way under his massive footfalls. He knew it was all for show since he could feel the magic vibrating off of each step. They passed a couple in the hallway, two witches who were looking rather shy before entering another room. 

Maybe they wanted some affection too. Maybe they lost people. Maybe they were celebrating being alive.

They arrived at the room, at the end of the hallway overlooking Knockturn Alley. “Here, let me go in first,” he put his hand on hers holding the key in the lock. Magic wafted over the key and across his hands. 

“I’m sure nothing is going to happen except what we want,” she smiled at him. He returned it. 

“I know but it would be poor appearances on my part if something did happen.”

She made a non-committal noise before handing it over. He turned the key in the lock and went in, wand held ready for anything, friend or foe. Sure enough, the room was empty save the furnishings.

He turned around, feeling the chagrin burn his pale cheeks. 

“Thanks for protecting me from the cobwebs.” The smile on her face eased the edge of the cheek.

“I guess I’m still on edge from a couple of days ago.”

Pansy put her satchel down on the wardrobe by the door and looked around the room. He watched her appraising it before nodding once. He figured that she was slumming down for these quarters but compared to his tent in Romania, these were quite plush. The towels were clean by the washbasin on the other wall, the bed looked warm and probably quite soft – softer than what he was accustomed to, and considerably bigger than what he slept in most days. A second door was probably for the en-suite.

“You know,” he said, “we can go somewhere else if this isn’t comfortable enough for you.”

“This is where I am comfortable, actually.” Pansy went to the only chair in the room and sat down. “When I was little,” she ran her hands over the small table with a candle on it, “Mum and I would come to town and see Dad at the office. He always worked late so Mum insisted we get a room here for the night. Eventually, he’d show up, usually at dawn, exhausted, while Mum and I went out shopping or doing other things. For me, staying here is a very fond and quite pleasant memory.” She slid down the zipper on her boots, shedding them and the three inches height they gave her. A sigh erupted once she was out of the boots.

He watched her remove her boots while he shed his waxed canvas coat. “I do hope those boots were ethically harvested. Losing even one before old age renders them toothless is poaching and one thousand galleons fine – including anyone in possession of illegally harvested dragon skin.”

“I didn’t know that.” Pansy pondered a moment. “I never considered that it was a problem.”

“It’s an important one, considering how few there are remaining of the wild. It’s a wonder we have so many healthy ones in the Preserve. The Welsh one does great work, too.” Charlie yanked off his muck boots but used his wand to put them in front of the wardrobe. “Wand makers who use Dragon heartstrings sign forms when they accept a Dragon’s heart after one passes away. They don’t talk about it much but it seems that the Dragon hearts, especially the ancient ones, the ones who’ve lived for a very, very long time, give the best hearts, the ones used in wands and those wands become the best ones to sell. And I won’t even get into what the Master Potioneers have to do to get vials of dragon blood. We’re talking so many feet of parchment to submit.”

Pansy smiled from her chair across the room. “You have such passion for them, don’t you?”

“I do. I dunno when it started but it seems that once I realized it was a possible career, I jumped at the chance. I don’t regret giving up a chance at professional Quidditch, not for this.”

“So who did you have that inspired you in such?”

“It was Professor Kettleburn, actually. In my first year, he invited Newt Scamander to teach for one class. He talked of his travels, of his adventures, and about Dragons. Listening to him was extraordinary. As for Professor Kettleburn, he still had both legs and one arm. It wasn’t until after I left that he was injured by a Welsh Green and had to retire.”

Pansy shrugged out of her cloak and coat underneath it. “Hand over that bottle, will you?”

Charlie popped open the cork from the top and did as she asked. She took a healthy pull from it.

“Hey, slow down. I don’t want to have to take you to St. Mungo’s tonight, not after you paid for the room.”

“Sorry,” she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I had a terrible thought about my parents. I didn’t realize how unhappy they were with one another ‘til now.”

He thought a moment’s pity for this kind witch before him before he stuffed it back down. “They were Purebloods, right?”

“Got it in one, there.”

Charlie took a seat on the edge of the bed. “So why did they target them, if they were Purebloods? Were they not fanatical enough? Did they cross someone more important?”

Pansy wiped her face and smeared her makeup from the silent tears erupting. “They were, but it wasn’t enough, it seems. Dad’s the Publisher of the Daily Prophet and gladly published the propaganda submitted to him, about how Purebloods were doing a great service to society, how they were bringing us back to our rightful place in society, cleaning out those who had stolen magic – “Charlie pulled a face. “I didn’t say I agreed with that part. I listened and knew that bit was rubbish but it was what those sods used to justify eliminating Muggleborns.”

“Eliminating Muggleborns?” Charlie whistled. “It was worse than I heard. Wow. I bet you thought my family was a bunch of lunatics for being so liberal and progressive, right?”

“I didn’t really get to know them, you know, ‘cept – “

“What?”

Pansy looked at her hands like she had blood on them. “You have to understand, this past year was – it was utterly mental. The things happening, required actions demanded of us, teaching lessons – “

“It involves my sister, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said faintly. “I’m not proud of what I did. Your sister mouthed off and Alecto Carrow, the Pureblood studies professor, and the Professor made me use an Unforgivable on her.”

“And you did, didn’t you?”

“I did. She returned it back to me tenfold later on.”

She got me back for it though, later on.”

“Good.” 

The two looked at one another before Pansy dropped her eyes. “It’s not like I didn’t like her – “Charlie pulled another face, “Well, maybe I didn’t like her but it’s not like she wanted to steal a boyfriend or anything like that. All Slytherin students were instructed to be harsh on everyone else – including first years – and if we weren’t, they’d do worse to us. They said that we had to be hard enough to make the tough decisions and not regret them.” Pansy took a deep breath. “I’m not proud of what I’ve done this year but I did it.” 

“That’s completely fucked up.” He put his hand out and she handed over the bottle. 

“Yeah, I’m getting that now.” She took a deep breath. “I bet you think I’m a monster after hearing this.”

“Nope,” Charlie took a long pull from the bottle. “I think we both fucked up.”

“You?” She took the bottle back.

He stood, stripping out of his jumper, shirt, and vest, showing off his scarred torso and various burns on his arms and back. One huge curse mark stood out, right between the shoulder blades, looking like a jagged line that had healed poorly. He turned, showing various curse scars on his arms but also an enormous dragon right over his heart, wrapping the tail around his ribs. The tattoo covered much of his chest, with the tail wrapping around his midsection. Healed burns crisscrossed his body, from shoulder to waist. The dragon shifted and another curse scar, one over his sternum, looked like an enormous bruise. 

The snout hid the scar.

“I took three curses that should have killed me but didn’t. Fuck if I know how I survived them. But I did. Thing is,” his stare drifted off, “I know I killed a few that night. Those I regret.” He pulled his view back into focus on her. “I stunned one off of his broom, chasing someone else. I hit him and he ran into the side of one of the towers.”

“Where?”

“I think it was the Astronomy tower. Damn bastard hit the next roof down and rolled and fell into the night.” Charlie blew out a harsh breath. “Bastard was trying to kill me and damn if I didn’t kill him back.”

“I’m sorry.” He looked up from his hands, seeing her standing in front of him. He reached out to those hands and gently held them. “I couldn’t do it. I ran. I was trying to find my father. I didn’t care what happened there.”

“I get it. I cherish my Dad more than my Mum. I’m probably a bastard for admitting that. Mum was always so hard on me and Bill and the rest got away with murder, mostly. Dad, though, was firm but fair. He treated us better than Mum ever did.”

“I dunno what I’m going to do without them.”

Charlie saw the tears start to fall. He pulled her in front of him. She knelt down, almost like she was praying for absolution, but pressed her face into his chest, sobbing while he held her. He talked, softly, giving voice to anything and everything that came to mind: Dragons, Quidditch, how much he hated working abroad, how he missed his brothers, how he missed watching his sister grow up. He prattled on about everything and nothing while the bereft woman in his arms melted down in her grief, melting down over the array of emotions she stifled in public, trained like a good Pureblood witch was expected to comport. He couldn’t fathom a crisis of conscience but she was having it and he was the one to try and console her.

Slowly, eventually, her sobs calmed.

“Thank you,” her voice drifted up to his ears. “I didn’t realize I needed that.” He watched her look up from his chest, still heaving from her sobs. “I didn’t realize I needed you tonight.”

Charlie felt his ears burning up. “Pshaw, anyone worth their weight in pudding would do that.”

Pansy stood up to sit on the edge of the bed, getting him to turn to face her. “Then most of the people I know aren’t worth it. No one has been there for me to listen to my problems.”

“Quid pro quo,” Charlie muttered. “But then everyone has some shit they are dealing with right now.”

Pansy leaned over to plant a soft kiss on his lips. “You’re the only man, the only person really, who has cared enough to listen,” she kissed him again.

He reciprocated gladly, finding that he did miss the feeling of a warm body pressed up against his own. His arms went around her and gently laid her back onto the bed, gently pressing her into the bedclothes, scorching her with a burning kiss. 

Eventually, he pulled back to watch her heavy breathing and slack face. She opened her eyes and tried to catch her breath. “Wow. That was – “ She pulled him back down to her, snogging him further, determined to give as good as she got.

He broke the kiss, sucking in a breath like he had been sucking on her tongue. Her eyes were closed, chest heaving, her lips swollen from two kisses. 

Pansy opened her eyes, seeing his brown ones looking down at her. Without saying a word, she picked up her wand from the bed, pointed it at the door to lock it, and doused the flames on the gaslights in the room, leaving them with one candle flickering by the window, blowing slightly in a drafty breeze from the window. 

She turned back to her companion and without breaking eye contact, put his hand on her blouse. “Have you ever,” her voice was soft in the silence of the room.

“Spent the night with a woman? Yes. Have I had sex? Yes. Ever been in love? No.”

“Was it the same one you mentioned earlier?”

He nodded. “She was my first and I’ll always cherish her, even if what I felt for her wasn’t what she felt for me.”

Pansy ran her hand across his cheek. He leaned into her touch, not shying away from the stubble or the beard below it. His breath caught by the intensity on her face. “Why did you break it off with her?”

He rolled onto the bed, looking up at the ceiling. He could imagine lying on the grass out by the orchard with her, looking at the stars and recalling their conversation. “Well, um, I, see she, she wanted to be an Auror, and that would take years of an apprenticeship, of which I was accepting a job out of the country. We didn’t think we could make a go of it because of the distance. So once I packed my trunk and left, we barely saw one another, not even Christmas or holidays. We did write but it eventually dropped off to cards for a birthday and Christmas.

“I heard she found someone else. I was relieved. I cared for her, certainly liked her, enjoyed hanging out with her, but I couldn’t give her what she needed, much less wanted. I was honest with her and I think she respected it. She understood, even if it gutted both of us when I moved away. Fuck, I’m gonna miss her.”

Pansy sat up on the bed and started to open the buttons on her blouse. He caught her wrists like he’d catch a hatchling on their first flight. “We don’t have to go farther if you don’t want to.” He let her hands go and watched as she finished undoing the buttons, leaving her in a black and dark green brassiere. 

Her expression turned serious. “I want to, Charlie Weasley. I’ve not had a man show an ounce of care or concern in months. I want to show you my appreciation and thanks for being an honourable man.” She stood up from the bed to work the zipper on the side of her trousers. In a moment, she was down to her knickers and bra, standing before him with a confidence he’d never seen in another woman. 

He sat up to get closer. “Wow, you look,” he goggled, like an out of breath cod, “incredible.” He kept his hands on his lap while he took in every inch of her scantily clad body.

“You can touch me, you know,” she smiled shyly. “I’m not going to break.”

“It’s not that,” he grunted. He turned his hands upwards. “I’m rather rubbish at healing spells.” The pads of his fingers lacked fingerprints and the palms were crisscrossed with scars. The knuckles were odd-shaped too, from being broken so many times handling juvenile dragons. “It seems almost a sacrilege to do what you ask, with these hands.”

Pansy stepped closer to touch his hands. She ran a manicured fingertip across each scar, scorch mark, and healed stitch on his wrists. “Please do,” she lifted one hand to her lips, pressing a kiss onto each knuckle. 

“It’s been a while so this, um, well, it might not – “

“That’s fine,” she cut across him to take his face in her hands and snog him yet again. She dragged her tongue across his lips, begging entrance, and he gladly accepted while working his hands around her waist to her lace covered bottom. He squeezed, feeling some softness of her bum in his calloused hands. She moaned in appreciation. “I’ll tell you if you can make it better.”

“Sorted,” He pulled on her hips and twisted, pulling her down onto the bed. He followed suit, pressing her body into the clean bedclothes, kissing her with an abandon he’d not felt since he walked away from the one other. He felt her cradling his hips with her knees, catching a scent he’d not come across in years. Instead, he focused on the witch lying below him, splayed out before him.

“How would you like to – “

Pansy pulled his calloused right hand from her face and put it on her lace clad breast. “You don’t have to ask tonight. I, well, I will do anything you want.”

Charlie pulled back, but left his hand on her bra, refusing to move it an inch. “Anything?”

Pansy nodded shyly. “Anything provided it’s not too terribly strange.”

He grinned. “So you mean if I picked up your dragon skin boot and included it that might be terribly strange?”

He watched her visibly relax before laughing. “Thank you for that image in my head now.”

He squeezed his right hand, feeling her nipple stand up under his touch. “Yeah, that’s way too weird for me, too.” He leaned down and kissed her again, feeling her body rise up to touch his. Her hands drifted up and down his muscled back, feeling every single hair standing up, and on down to his jeans-clad bottom.

“You’ve got too many clothes on,” she smiled looking up at him. 

“You’re right.” Charlie stood up from the bed to finish disrobing. He dropped his trousers easily. He stood, flexing his neck and shoulders, rolling it around before standing up taller. Pansy watched while he worked off the socks on his feet when he saw her staring. “What?”

“I’m just, wow.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

He looked down his chest – scarred and scorched from the years working at the Preserve to lower, through the darker hairs below his navel. “I’m nothing compared to the others.” He dropped his pants, earning a whistle from the witch on the bed. “See? Nothing.”

“Oh, I disagree.”

His ears, neck, and chest burned.

“Come here, you,” she crooked a finger towards him in encouragement.

She lifted the covers and slid under them as he did, crashing together every possible inch they could press into one another. Her hands threaded through his hair along the hairs on his chest. “Damn.” Her hand drifted lower, touching the soft pudge of his belly but feeling the strength under the fat.

He pulled back an inch, watching her eyes go wide. “What?”

He gasped as her small, delicate hand didn’t wrap around his cock. She gently squeezed once, tugging on his length. “Fuck!” Her soft delicate hand was too much, overwhelming everything he’d felt. It had been too long since he’d done anything remotely close to what the witch beside him was doing for him.

“Pansy, wait, I’m – “

“Go ahead,” her voice in his ear made him shudder before he could warn her he came.

The room blacked out before he came to, panting hard. “Shit, that was incredible.”

The bed rustled some before he opened his eyes. He looked up, splayed out on the bed, and saw Pansy sitting on his stomach wearing nary a stitch. “Merlin, I’ve died.” He threw his head back into the pillow under him. Feathers floated out from behind his head.

“No, you haven’t.”

He smirked. “You’re right. Heaven would have included Dragons flying around.”

“You’re funny,” Pansy took his hands and put them back on her now exposed breasts, encouraging him to toy with them. “I know you said it’s been a while and all but – ” a groan exploded from her. “Bloody fuck, that’s not inexperienced.”

He hadn’t forgotten how to toy with a woman, not with how he could drive one in particular absolutely spare by playing with her nipples, the ones that were so small yet responsive. These before him weren’t that small but pale, yet with an abundance of heft to them and a sensitivity to match anyone. He rubbed with his calloused thumbs across her nipples, watching them tighten before his very eyes. “I said it’s been a while, not that I never did anything of the sort.” He sat up from the bed and set to kissing and sucking on her breasts, alternating one with the other while twisting and pinching the one he wasn’t sucking on. One hand drifted from her ribs down to her arse, giving him a handful.

Her moans and groans encouraged him.

“Charlie, where the hell are you?” A voice erupted in the room. He kept his hands in place but plopped out the breast from his mouth. He turned to see an enormous lion in the room.

He reached behind him in the bedclothes and found his wand. He thought to a powerful memory and an enormous Scottish Highland Cow erupted from his wand. “I’m out, you git.” Pansy bit her knuckles at seeing the form of his Patronus. The cow and the lion circled in the room, even passing through the bed.

“Dad’s looking for you, wants me to prowl the pubs to look for you. He says he can’t cope if you’re passed out in a gutter somewhere.”

Charlie squeezed her bum and she bit his shoulder. “Send Dad your Patronus and tell him I just stumbled into your house, completely pissed.”

“Alright but you owe me.”

“Just the same galleon back and forth, I reckon.”

“Now, seriously, where are you?”

Charlie looked at Pansy and winked. “I’m in a rented room with someone for the night. Bugger off. We’re busy.”

“You’re full of shite, ya git. Go sleep it off but I expect to see you by 7 am so we can be at the house by 10.” The Lion roared before disappearing through a wall. His cow disappeared too.

Charlie dropped his wand from his hand back into the bedclothes and turned his attention back to the incredible witch sitting on top of him. He froze seeing the stern look on her face.

“Why did you tell him that?”

“He thinks I’m a monk like I was years ago.”

“So you’ve had more than one person to share your bed, huh?”

“Yeah, but that’s in the past. I was honest. It’s been, well, years now. Tonight, it’s just us.” He reached a hand out towards her stomach, running his hands up and down her soft skin. “I’m far from a friar.” Charlie threw his left hip up, tossing Pansy from his waist. She landed with an _oomph_ into the bedclothes and he was on top of her, pressing kisses all over her face and neck, leaving sloppy ones on her shoulders and chest. She pulled his hair and he left a love bite lower on her chest, not quite on her right breast. 

“Tell me what you want,” he growled into her skin. “Tell me,” he looked up from between her breasts and saw her staring at him with an intensity he’d never seen from a woman. “Tell me,” he asked again. She didn’t answer him. “If you don’t tell me, I won’t go any further.”

She fluttered her eyes and he couldn’t tell if she was trying to flirt with him. “I’m sorry but I’m boggled that you asked me what I wanted. I’m not used to that, someone asking me what _I_ _wanted_ during sex.”

He stopped, immediately, and scooted back up her body, taking a tear slipping from her face and pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “They hurt you, didn’t they?” She nodded and a second tear slipped out. “Someone shagged you and didn’t ask if you were ok with what they were doing, wasn’t it? Well, I’m not them. Dad taught us better, that you treat a woman right, and she’ll do anything you ask.” He grinned, laying on the Weasley Charm that Bill said he has. “So tell me what you want, and how you want it, and I’ll do just that, and nothing more, not unless you tell me to do so.”

Her eyes lit up like Faerie lights. “Really? You’d do that?”

“I will if that’s what you want.”

Pansy sniffed once and a second time. “Make love to me, please. Not a fuck but something slow, soft and gentle. I’ve never had that.”

“Ever?” She shook her head. “Well, they were bastards.” Charlie leaned back onto his heels, looking her up and down. Her chest was heaving and her stomach shivering slightly. What possibly did interest him was giving her pleasure, even if he wouldn’t have another explosion tonight. This witch needed someone to treat her well. He’d be the one to do it. He’d show her affection. He might be rubbish at it but he’d do that, for her. 

“You want me to go down on you?”

She squeaked. “No one has - Oh God yes please.”

“I’ll warn you, it’s been well, a very _very_ long time since I’ve done what I’m going to do, so tell me how I can make it better.” He smiled and she did too. He felt like he first saw _her_ standing in the front entryway of Hogwarts. His insides bloomed in warmth at the memory. 

Charlie found his wand in the bedclothes and put a warming charm on the bedsheets. He handed her his wand which she put on the bedside table. 

Pansy nudged up on the bed, letting the pillows support her a bit more. Once she was comfortable and settled, she opened her knees wider, opening her hips to him. _‘Nutmeg? Cinnamon? Anise? Ginger?’_ Spices from his mum’s kitchen were the only thing he could think of once he caught her scent, hitting his nostrils with the full force of a week-old hatchling. ‘Damn,’ he said under his breath while looking at his task – put his face into a witch’s womanhood and try to make her come. His fingertips wouldn’t help since he lost the feeling in them years ago. 

He failed the last two times he tried it and bless her for trying to teach him more. He felt her eyes on him while he was moving to lay on his stomach, right between her splayed knees. Down here, he shouldn’t rummage around so much if he could possibly see what he was doing. 

He heard her breathing grow rapid. He looked up and saw her face studying him. He turned his head to put a sloppy kiss on each of her thighs, following the advice brother Bill gave him once – _‘make her relax before you pop off’_ \- kissing each bit of ample skin next to his cheeks before he’d dive in and delve her depths. Blimey! The skin on her thighs was so soft, so delicate. Pansy sighed. He took that as a good sign, pressing kisses higher and higher until his nose nudged the crevice of her slit. She moved, setting her knees on his shoulders. 

With his left hand, he opened her up to his eyes, seeing an alien landscape before him. He knew, from his last encounter like this, that there would be a nub, a bean if you will, that if you were gentle with it at first before going a little harder she’d beg for mercy.

Like a Dragon getting their first sniff of meat, he set to work, running his fingers up and down the delicate skin of her lips, inside and out, licking each bit in front of his face. He intentionally ignored the little nub poking out above her entrance. Each lick brought out more moans, groans, and eventually felt a delicate hand thread through his hair, kneading it while he enjoyed feasting on her intimate flesh. 

After a particular good moan and her pulling his hair, he pried her lips open a touch more, using one lone digit to delve her depths. Her grip tightened and he used a second, thrusting in and out while using his thumb to rub circles on her clitoris. 

“Yes, yes, oh fuck yes please,” her begging became a litany. He took it as a compliment, enjoying her lamentations. “Oh, oh God More,” she moaned.

With two fingers inside her, he found her clit once again and licked. And again. And a third before taking that little bundle of nerves and gently sucking on it, all while pressing up inside her.

“Ohgod!” echoed in their small expanse, bouncing off of every wall. Her back arched. Her arms froze and her legs were shuddering and quivering in the aftermath of his tender touch. He held her knees down with his elbows to keep from being kicked in the head.

The quivering subsided, leaving her panting. “Shit,” Pansy said to no one and nothing in particular. “That was bloody wonderful.”

Charlie slid up the bed, bringing her to his chest. Minutes passed while he waited for her to come down off of her high.

“I thought by now you’d be shagging me silly.”

“I told you – I can take it or leave it.” 

Pansy leaned up off of his chest to look at the man lying with her. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah, I am. I thought you’d be worn out by now.”

She smiled. “Oh, I’m hardly worn out. But I’d love to wear you out.”

He pulled a face. “Only if it means that much to you.”

Pansy maneuvered her way onto his thighs, using her hands to work him up. “It does. I’d feel quite sheepish and selfish if I didn’t at least let you pop one off.”

“But I already did,” he smiled. 

She laughed. “The first one doesn’t count.” She put the second hand on his cock, working her hands in tandem up and down the shaft, pulling and relaxing the skin over the knob and back. 

He threaded his hands behind his head, feeling completely relaxed even with his unremarkable manhood in her talented hands. “Well, I’d hate for you to feel like you were being selfish.”

The hazy smile on her face was as warming as a pull from the Firewhiskey bottle. Her hands worked up and down his cock, including her using her thumbs over the knob. “That feels fucking amazing.” He left the other question unasked since it wasn’t his business where she’d learned what she was doing. “Damn, your hands are better than mine.”

“Can’t be,” she continued to work on him. Her touch was amazing. “I’d figure you’d have more experience doing this.” She looked up at his face when he didn’t respond.

“I don’t actually. See, um, the thing is, um, I’ve not had feeling in my fingers in a few years now, due to work and the burns from the juveniles. What I think is working, doesn’t. So I don’t have the desire to do that, what you’re doing, when it’s just me.”

Her features softened.

“There’s no need to pity me. I fell in love with Dragons as a child and I’ve never lost that love, even if it hurts.”

“Oh, it’s not pity. It’s, well, it’s curiosity. I’ve never met a man like you before.” She quit stroking his cock in favor of running her hands up and down his thighs and across his hips. She quietly watched him react positively to that touch instead of trying to make him come. “I’m well, quite bluntly, accustomed to men who wouldn’t have a callous on their hand if their life depended on it. Most are too pampered, coddled, and entitled to work with their hands, much less work. 

“You’re really special.”

“Me? Hardly. The rest of my siblings are the impressive ones. I’m just a bloke who wrestles Dragons daily, tries to keep them alive without killing everyone in the countryside, and just working my arse off to pay the rent, have some money for the pub after work, and maybe send some galleons home for my parents.”

“You’ve done that? You help support your parents, at this age?” She sat up a little further, still toying with the soft hairs on his belly. He moaned in appreciation at her gentle touch on one of his scars.

“Well, yeah. I’ve been doing it for years now. First thing I did once I got my first galleons was to buy a new wand and give Dad my old one, for one of the younger ones. Dad told us that we had a responsibility to help out the younger ones, and well, I didn’t have much for the first couple of years but I’ve been saving a few galleons here and there and sending it back to my older brother, who has been depositing it in our parent’s vault, to keep everyone fed, the house in good repair, and a couple of nice things when someone does something special, like when Ron made prefect.”

“I did a few rounds with him in two years. He seemed kind of thick much of the time. Many of us assumed that Granger witch was how he was passing his lessons.”

“Nah, he’s not, not at all. He’s brilliant but in things that interest him like I am when it comes to Dragons. He’s practical, doing stuff instead of reading about it. He’s not much on the first go but once he’s got something down, he never forgets it. He loves playing chess and he’s damn good at it. He beat dad when he was 10 and he’s no slouch. None of us could beat him a year before he went off to Hogwarts.”

“So that’s what he meant when –“

“What?”

“Oh, it’s something from our first year. Dumbledore said that he played a brilliant game of chess and earned Gryffindor 50 points.”

“50? Wow. That’s incredible.”

Pansy shifted onto his stomach, straddling his waist, ignoring the cock bouncing on her arse. 

“You’re close with the family?’

“Bill, sure. Percy? Not really. He’s been a pretentious prat since he was a kid. The twins – ” Charlie felt his breath catch and he tried to shove it down – “The twins were always being little tossers to Percy and they tried with me, ‘til Ron got old enough to be tormented.”

Pansy reached behind her and felt his manhood ready for her. She slid back and felt him poised at her entrance. “I mean, if you want to,” she held off.

“Sure. You’re not taking advantage of me.”

She slid down his length, sighing under her breath. “Tell me about them, your dragons.” She rotated her hips a little and he groaned. 

“Well, the first one, he’s the oldest, and we call him Dragoon. I dunno who came up with that lame name but he’s battle-scarred, can’t fly anymore, has a deformed tail, and rather cranky when he doesn’t get his meals on time. He could still outlive me.”

Pansy began rocking back and forth using gentle movements while Charlie discussed the ten dragons at the Romanian Preserve. He nattered on about all of them, talking about them like they were family. To him, they were, much as his parents and siblings were.

He prattled and she rode him slow, like she was an ickle first year learning to ride a broom. And he had the stamina while she took her time to fuck him silly. The last time she’d had sex, it was over in less than four minutes – and wholly unsatisfying. His breath hadn’t hitched and it had been ten minutes, at least.

“And finally,” his breath hitched and his eyes closed, “there’s Norberta. She’s the meanest one,” he gripped the bedclothes, holding back the pending explosion. “She’ll burn anyone and anything that doesn’t – oh fuck – stay away from her, including other dragons. Fuck me!”

He exploded, groaning like a gnome caught by an angry crup. Remnants of what appeared to be fire rattled his brain and shook his entire body. He knew that feeling, having been burned once before and it’s only a miracle he survived that incident mostly intact.

The smoke cleared from his mind and he opened his eyes, finding the diminutive witch lying beside him, snuggled under the covers, tracing the various scars on his chest and ribs. “You don’t find my scars ugly?” He watched her tracing one particular one, shaped somewhat like a set of wings since his magical tattoo had settled elsewhere.

“Ugly? No, I don’t. It’s fascinating to hear about your work, about the dragons you are trying to save, and keeping them alive and healthy while not killing people. You’re a breath of fresh air compared to all of the other Purebloods I know.”

He snorted. “They must be run of the mill ponces and maybe some rent boys.”

“Some, but mostly ponces. They wouldn’t know how to do a day’s work if it bit them on the arse.”

A hearty guffaw echoed in the room. “That’s true. Me? I was out of the house a week after I left Hogwarts, a wizard of 18 and looking to pay my own rent and buy my own boots. I’ve been working ever since.” He looked at the witch looking a little lost. “Want to tell me more about your parents? It sounds like your father was always working and didn’t spend enough time with you.”

Charlie nestled back into the pillows and listened, offering up words when it seemed right. 

The conversation ebbed and flowed as the wax melted off of the candle on the bedside table.

* * *

He woke with a start. The room was in low light and the candle had burned down to almost a nub, leaving the room bathed in shadows. They’d been asleep maybe three hours; perhaps, by how low the candle was in the holder. He turned to see the bare shoulder of the young woman he shared an enjoyable evening with, softly snoring away. 

It had been quite nice. He liked giving her pleasure and being gentle with her. She didn’t complain that he wasn’t the best lover or that he wasn’t really into what he was doing for her.

Charlie leaned over and brushed a kiss across her shoulder and the stray hairs that covered her goat’s milk soft skin. He barely shook the bed as he slid out from the bedding and went to collect his clothes from the floor. He’d need a kip before he could start his day anew. The en-suite was bathed in shadows, which would be just fine. He slid his pants and jeans up silently while watching the sleeping witch in the bed they’d shared for the night. 

What they had wasn’t love. He knew that. Maybe he’d have felt more for her if this had been going on for months rather than one night. But he’d been honest with her. 

She’d been honest with him. She didn’t love him. He was nothing more than a means to an end. It didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy his time with him, probably. Nattering on about Dragons until she fell asleep was probably one of the highlights of his year – that someone listened to him. Getting his knob polished was an additional benefit, even if he went in not expecting much from her.

Fuck how he’d missed that – someone whom he could cuddle, talking half the night about anything and everything. He’d not had that since the day he took the portkey to Romania for the first time.

Maybe he could meet up with her again. She could owl later today or tomorrow. It wouldn’t be long before he returned home, to his work and his Dragons. He’d share his cock with her if it meant having someone interested in him and not for his red hair or his family name but for the man he is, someone not revolted by his how passionate he was about his work. 

Maybe he could owl her.

Maybe she humoured him because he gave her pleasure and was honest with her. It seemed that few had been that way, how she prattled on about others in her life, those not named. She wasn’t turned off by his of scar tissue on his body, either. She’d even been impressed with the Opaleye in his pants.

He couldn’t love her since he didn’t seem to feel that way towards anything except his Dragons. Somehow that was ok with him. Or maybe they could have a go of it, for a short while, before he returned to work. Pleasure and pleasant company never hurt anyone.

Charlie shoved his other boot on, making sure he’d left nothing on the floor of their room. He kept to his cleaning habits even when staying the night with a young woman. He had to get back to Shell Cottage and make up some excuse for Dad. Dad’d see through it, of course, but he quit asking about his son’s nights out long ago, with him not bringing anyone home to meet the family.

Charlie slipped out of the en-suite and went to the aged door, using his wand to silence the hinges. She was sleeping well at the moment and he didn’t want to wake her, not with what she said would happen later this morning.

Merlin! Today would be one fucking miserable day, for both of them. At least he could let her sleep before everything went to hell in a bloody trolley. He had his own dragons to wrestle in about five hours.

He slipped out of the room door and into the hallway, intending to be back at Bill’s in five minutes, and crashed out in 15. Maybe he could kip on the couch like he used to do.

He’d owl her later today to meet up with her tonight. He went down the hall towards the stairs.

Maybe the world wouldn’t be so damn messed up. 

Maybe never got a bloody thing done.

* * *

Charlie apparated to the outskirts of Tinworth at half five. It was a wonder he could apparate, as tired as he was. Spending much of the night away with Pansy was pleasant, but hard on the concentration. But wasn’t like he was complaining. He’d have a ready-made excuse later today for his brother’s funeral – pleading a bad hangover and being short on sleep. After hours of intimate conversation about everything and nothing, he felt calm for what was going to be one of the worst days of his life. Not even losing co-workers to fire at the Preserve would hurt like today would.

He had to be strong, for his parents, for his siblings, for those who loved that twatting arsehole. He needed to be the pillar of support because he _knew_ that everyone would need him today – and maybe the others, too. He had to be the stalwart one today.

Fuck, he was going to miss that arrogant little shit. 

Charlie gripped his wand as he crossed the threshold of the boundary lines of Shell cottage, feeling the frisson wash over him along with an annoying sting in his ears. Bill set a charm to something vile and Egyptian, learned from one of his excursions while working for the bank.

He stopped before opening the door. ‘Yelling, at this hour?’

He crashed through the door, hearing more noises. Somehow the door hadn’t made a sound. He stepped into the doorway and saw his brother, along with sister in law, fucking on one of the dining room chairs. The day before, he might have been curious. Today? He couldn’t be arsed. He was too tired this morning.

He took a step and a floorboard squeaked. He froze but they kept going. Fleur was on her toes, rising up and down, making the chair squeak on the stone floor. He shifted his weight and the floorboard squeaked again. Bill took a tit in his mouth but Fleur opened her eyes and saw Charlie standing there, framed by the first light of the morning peeking over the sand dunes near their cottage.

Crass words rang out in the room and Fleur answered them back, probably in her native French since he couldn’t understand a damn. She watched him standing like a cow. 

‘ _Merde,_ ’ Bill uttered. Fleur kept going, using her feet and hips to make her husband swear. She smiled at her brother in law before closing her eyes, saying ‘ _Vas-y, Bill, baise-moi!_ ’ which he couldn’t understand at all.

Charlie pointed his wand at the floorboard, silencing everything in front of him. They chased him up the stairs with the chair squeaking across the stone floor until he closed the spare bedroom door. He’d kip for a few hours before next day started. Fleur would wake him by half eight so he could shave, tidy up, and then fortify for his family on the worst day of their lives. 

He owed that tosser of a brother that much for missing so much more.


End file.
